Uh, uh, yeah, right
Yo, uh, who is it?
Thug nigga
That nigga Kazi
Look, it's Kazi, Yukmeezy, and me, Dreezy
And me Dreezy, you beezy
We in and out so quick, two minutes tops
No nosy neighbors, no cops
We'll snatch yo' kids up, nigga, watch
And we'll be on little junior like the chicken pox
Keep a nigga sweatin', like no socks
Me and Coolio and cop new Glocks out the box
Pull one, hit the weed spot
Since A-1, square niggas think we need shocks
Watch your weed crop, 'cause my niggas need spots
To run up in, and get some free wops
In Cali you see drops with thug niggas in 'em
In L.A., they low ride, in the Bay, we spin 'em
Ridin' in something tight, looking like a lemon
Collecting my winnings from all of my womens
Treat them blade niggas like Richard Simmons
Go bad if they don't got that thug in 'em
Yo, ever since a shorty, I lock it down like I'm Don Corle'
Like that nigga Treach I gets Naughty
Just like a cigarette, I spot smoky, Kaz'll mangle you
Pack two like Yosemite, Kaz' is flammable
Bars is unexplainable, guns totin' niggas in Oakland
Blowin' roses out the roof of the Lotus
The rims spinnin' while the tires is posted
Fingers itchin' on them nines I'm holdin'
I'm pushin' pies in the pro-jects
For sure that, Feds is runnin' 'round with them Kodaks
Tryna do my city like it's New Jack
Chickens yellin', "Who dat?"
Face in my lap, bitch, you could do that
Show the bitch how Stella got her groove back
Jealous niggas move back, Kazi seen it all through the lens of the Carti's
I'm thinking back when we was friends and sippin' Bacardi
Dip in the parties, now niggas snitch in a heartbeat
Now pick yourself up off the concrete
Closed caskets, funerals, guns and roses
Runnin' from cats as usual, dumpin' my 4-5
And when the funk came, I let my nuts hang
Guns bang like brr, brr, blocka, bang bang
Closed caskets, funerals, guns and roses
Runnin' from cats as usual, dumpin' my 4-5
And when the funk came, I let my nuts hang
Guns bang like brr, brr, blocka, bang bang
Take ten paces then draw like Quick Draw McGraw
Yuk flip on a broad, Yuk still ball for y'all
I flip the hottest cars, dick broads, quick menage-a-trois
We hood stars, bitch, blahzay blah
I talk the talk, I walk the walk
I cook O-Z's in coffee pots, I bought whole ki's from coffee shops
Overseas, still floss the rocks
Ferrari, drops cash money, make 'em baller block
I'm off the block still dodgin' court, I'm still high, I scorch
Poppin' corks, reading The Robb Report
I'm tryna flip a new mansion and watch
I want the Lamb' and a yacht
Sheesh, baby, pass the fan 'cause I'm hot
My chronic greenery like Mountain Dew, I'm Gucci down to the shoe
I make a quarter ki bounce to two
I got lawyers, accountants, too
I smoke an ounce and groove
Up late night loading rounds in the Uz'
My neck wet like it's Fountainbleu, Lex powder blue
I'm dodgin' housing outta town with my goons
A worldwide mob figure making power moves
They talk shit, I talk loud with tools, blocka, blaow
Guns and roses, my stacks ain't foldin', my Mac's unloadin'
The truck ain't rollin', the block is hot, my backs is holdin'
I'm Rydah, my Bonnie bitches call me J. Klyde
I used to be a stick-up kid, she was the driver
A child of the game, you shoot wild and I aim
With two guns like Max Payne
Through the slums, my gats rang
Ask mayne, a Pueblo chief
Those young Indians'll scalp you cheap
My hoes'll milk you for cheese
I'm two P's blowin' trees, rollin' leaves
Droppin' cherries on my Burberry fabric while I'm wigglin' through traffic
Rippin' shows with my 'matic and reach
Hoes throwin' roses on the stage
They Bay addicts, you can tell in they speech
Closed caskets, funerals, guns and roses
Runnin' from cats as usual, dumpin' my 4-5
And when the funk came, I let my nuts hang
Guns bang like brr, brr, blocka, bang bang
Closed caskets, funerals, guns and roses
Runnin' from cats as usual, dumpin' my 4-5
And when the funk came, I let my nuts hang
Guns bang like brr, brr, blocka, bang bang
Yeah, of course, United Ghettos, goddamnit
Cutthroat niggas all over the planet, you know? Ha
Bitch, we cold-blooded
And them blade niggas gon' get throat-cutted
Yeah, punk rock
Gon' sit the bitch if she ain't got somethin' on my 20-inch
Yeah, Yukmeez, Mac Dreez
That nigga Kazi, with the blahzay blahzay
